[The hour is late. Fayura has done what she can within the city to bolster its defenses and ready it for the injured. As evening creeps over Draega, she sits on the floor in one of the informal drawing rooms of the residence. Dressed in one of Verim's shirts and light, flannel pants, she's ready for bed and clearly not expecting visitors. A cup of coffee floats in the air nearby. A small frame rests in her lap. She holds threads in her hands, and she weaves slowly.

When Molly bursts in, she freezes. She shields herself immediately, not because she's afraid of him but because Allairavar trained her well. Even once she's recognized Molly, she doesn't drop the shield.

Tying off a strand of her web, she sets it aside.]

Join me on the floor. The housekeeper will murder me if we get more blood on the chairs.

[These chairs were recently re-upholstered after being used several months ago in the Hunters' attack on the residence.]

What's wrong? What did you see?